2.

And now upon the scene I look,
That azure grave of many a Roman ;
Where stern Ambition once forsook

His wavering crown to follow woman.

3.

Florence! whom I will love as well
As ever yet was said or sung,

(Since Orpheus sang his spouse from hell) Whilst thou art fair and I am young;

4.

Sweet Florence! those were pleasant times,
When worlds were staked for ladies' eyes:
Had bards as many realms as rhymes,
Thy charms might raise new Anthonies.

5.

Though Fate forbids such things to be,
Yet, by thine eyes and ringlets curl'd !
I cannot lose a world for thee,

But would not lose thee for a world.

STANZAS.

Composed October 11th, 1809, during the night, in a thunder-storm, when the guides had lost the road to Zitza, near the range of mountains formerly called Pindus, in Albania.

1.

CHILL and mirk is the nightly blast,
Where Pindus' mountains rise,

And

angry clouds are pouring fast The vengeance of the skies.

2.

Our guides are gone, our hope is lost,

And lightnings, as they play,

But show where rocks our path have crost,
Or gilds the torrent's spray.

3.

Is yon a cot I saw, though low?
When lightning broke the gloom-
How welcome were its shade!-ah, no!
'Tis but a Turkish tomb.

4.

Through sounds of foaming waterfalls,
I hear a voice exclaim-

My way-worn countryman, who calls

On distant England's name.

5.

A shot is fired-by foe or friend?
Another-'tis to tell

The mountain-peasants to descend,
And lead us where they dwell.

6.

Oh! who in such a night will dare
To tempt the wilderness?

And who 'mid thunder peals can hear
Our signal of distress?

7.

And who that heard our shouts would rise

To try the dubious road?

Nor rather deem from nightly cries

That outlaws were abroad.

8.

Clouds burst, skies flash, oh, dreadful hour!

More fiercely pours the storm!

Yet here one thought has still the power

To keep my bosom warm,

9.

While wand'ring through each broken path,

O'er brake and craggy brow;

While elements exhaust their wrath.

Sweet Florence, where art thou?

10.

Not on the sea, not on the sea,
Thy bark hath long been gone:

Oh, may the storm that pours on me,
Bow down my head alone!

11.

Full swiftly blew the swift Siroc,
When last I press'd thy lip;

And long ere now, with foaming shock,
Impell'd thy gallant ship.

12.

Now thou art safe; nay, long ere now
Hast trod the shore of Spain;
'Twere hard if ought so fair as thou
Should linger on the main.

13.

And since I now remember thee

In darkness and in dread,

As in those hours of revelry
Which mirth and music sped;

14.

Do thou amidst the fair white walls,

If Cadiz yet be free,

At times from out her latticed halls

Look o'er the dark blue sea;

15.

Then think upon Calypso's isles,
Endear'd by days gone by;

To others give a thousand smiles,
To me a single sigh.

16.

And when the admiring circle mark
The paleness of thy face,

A half-form'd tear, a transient spark

Of melancholy grace,

17.

Again thou❜lt smile, and blushing shun Some coxcomb's raillery;

Nor own for once thou though'st of one,

Who ever thinks on thee,

18.

Though smile and sigh alike are vain,
When sever'd hearts repine,

My spirit flies o'er mount and main,
And mourns in search of thine.